Days to Come
by chris400ad
Summary: Summary: Harry Potter, famed auror and Boy-Who-Lived, was hoping after having won the war and got the girl he would find some peace. But life is rarely that fair. See how his life fell apart and who was there to pick up the pieces. Non-epilogue compliant.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Harry Potter knew more than most that life was less than fair. His childhood plagued with unloving relatives, judging looks from anyone he passed and more than a few attempts on his life he had no misconceptions that his life, or anyone else's, was meant to be easy or fair. Nobody could have blamed him for growing up to be a cynic. But instead the young wizard had, having won the war and got the girl, hoped that his life would finally balance out. He felt deserved that much. Life, however, had far more different plans for him, because life wasn't fair.

He took off his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes before sliding the round-rimmed frames to their rightful position. A long time ago, or at least it felt that way, when he'd just been starting out as an auror he had considered trying to find a mediwitch to fix his eyesight. There was probably some form of treatment out there, somewhere. But in the end he had decided against it, he'd grown up with them sitting there on his nose constantly, he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't worn them. It would almost be like he'd be missing a part of himself.

"So, Harry, tell me, why are you here today?" the young woman, Eliza Carnell, a patient smile on her pretty face asked. The thick black notebook lay open on her table, a quill hovering just above it posed and ready to take notes. Harry eyed the thing warily, remembering all too well the last time that a quill had made notes on one of his discussions.

Eliza Carnell was a muggleborn healer who had worked exceptionally hard, along with several other healers, to start a program in Saint Mungo's based off the work of muggle psychiatrists. It had taken years to persuade the more traditional members of the board at the Wizarding hospital. But, after the end of the war with patients pouring into the hospital with problems that couldn't be fixed with a wand or a potion they finally agreed.

"You know why." Harry answered shortly. Everyone knew why. It had been in every paper and gossip magazine for a month, in the case of _Witch Weekly_ even longer. Private lives were something other people got to have. Not him. Not once. Not ever.

"What do you hope to gain from these sessions?" she asked apparently unmoved by his short temper.

"My job." The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Michael Davis refused to let Harry back into work if he didn't see someone. He didn't need to see someone. He needed to get back to work, back to what he was good at it, it was all he had left now. But apparently he didn't even have that. Not until he jumped through the hoops Ministry guidelines said he had to get through.

"That's a typical reaction to what you're going through, Harry. You feel out of control, alone, you're angry and hurt. You've got every right to be. But work isn't the answer. It's just a distraction."

"It's all I have left."

"It's a distraction." Eliza said again, fixing him with a dark eyed stare. "The longer you use it as that the harder this will be. You need to face up to what has happened, it's only then that you have a chance to move on. So, tell me, how do you feel about what happened?"

"How would you feel?"

"This isn't about me, Harry." Eliza smiled patiently. "This is about you. If you don't want to tell me how you feel, then how about you tell me what happened."

Harry sighed before he leant forwards in his chair, letting his hands fall between his knees as he looked at the woman in front of him. She didn't say anything, the quill had stopped its scratching, posed instead, ready for him to continue. He could be out there, doing his job, catching people. No, not people. Villains. Criminals. Not because it was his job or because it helped people. Not anymore. He wanted to do it because it would make him feel good. Better than in a long time.

He stared at Eliza for a long moment, the battle in his mind raged on as he fought with himself, deciding whether or not he should tell her. She probably knew what had happened anyway. Everyone had heard the stories, or at least her side. Once they had heard that no-one wanted to listen to his version. The public's sympathy had gone to Ginny, not the monster she had made him out to be.

"I guess, it all started one night after work." He told Eliza, ignoring the scratching as the quill started its dictation. Instead he focused on the words that came tumbling out of his mouth as he told her about the man hunt. The long hours that had kept him from home, all of the aurors that had been assigned to the Raymond Nott case had done the same. He'd killed six women and then left them displayed like trophies. He couldn't be allowed to just keep walking free a second longer than he already had. But after weeks and weeks it had finally been over. Nott had been arrested and Harry sent home early for some well-earned rest with his fiancée.

He remembered opening the door and seeing fallen clothes abandoned on the stair case. A white shirt, black trousers and a green skirt. He remembering staring. Not breathing. Not moving. Nothing. Just staring. Not wanting to believe it. Who would? Who would want to believe that? His whole world seemed to crumble before him. He didn't know what to do. His mind was blank. Even the steady heart beat that hammered in his chest day upon day seemed to have died out. Gone that instant. Silence pressed on his ears, deafening him.

But the silence had been broken, shattered by a loud moan from the top of the stairs. His body moved and suddenly he had been running. The noise stopped. Panicked voices took their place. He remembered slamming open a door. Seeing them. Seeing him. Young. Blonde. Handsome. He hadn't even been aware of the punch until Ginny was screaming. The world went numb, hands wrapped around him. But he kept swinging, kept punching, kicking. Then there was another shout. A different voice. A shout filled the room, bellowed louder than the cries of Ginny or the man on the floor.

"And that's when you were stunned?" Eliza asked dragging Harry from the memory of the man's bloodied face, his pleas for mercy. He nodded. "You weren't charged?"

"No," Harry answered with a sigh. "If I'd been anyone else that would have been it. No one would have known but the auror's who arrived at the house. Instead the Prophet got hold of everything. I haven't been allowed back since."

"And when was that?"

"Three months ago."

Eliza nodded. "So, just to sum up, three months ago your long term girlfriend cheated on you, you were then exposed to national humiliation and are only just coming for help. But not for yourself. Instead you're here because you want your job back, not to move on. The simple fact of the matter, Harry is that I can't do anything for you unless you actually want my help."

"I've dealt with worse," Harry said darkly. The truth was he had, the Dursley's had seen to that. Even at Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione there to help him there were still things he hadn't told them. Things he was never going to tell them. The guilt he felt for all the people who had died buying him time to defeat Voldemort. The nightmares. He hadn't even been able to tell them his role in Dumbledore's plan, about the Horcrux that had been latched onto him. He had definitely dealt with worse and come out the other side. Why would this be any different?

But he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this was different.

After Ginny had left all he had wanted to do was be alone, avoid the reporters camping out at the doorstep of his flat, dodge the worried glance Hermione would send his way whenever he saw her and as for the Weasley's. Molly had refused to even look at him. Ron wasn't sure how to deal with it, torn between protecting his little sister and defending his friend. George, Bill and Arthur had been more understanding, even defending him to Molly on the occasions he had been forced to go to the Burrow.

But he had soon realised that being alone, trapped inside Grimmauld Place, wasn't going to help. That was why he wanted to go back to work, back to what he was good at. At least there he wouldn't have to think about things. Ginny. The stupid blonde guy. Ginny. His suspension. Ginny. To say he had a one track mind over the past few months was understatement. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory that forced itself to the surface of his mind.

"Would you say that you find it difficult to trust, Harry?"

"No," he said quickly before he had even realised the words had escaped his mouth. But as he thought about that single word he realised just how wrong he was. He did find it difficult to trust, growing up with no friends, relatives who hated his existence and then discovering that the headmaster he had put so much faith in had been keeping him alive just so he could die. His eyes flickered to Eliza. She had point, he did need her help and not just to get his job back. "Yes. Actually, yes I would."

"Why is that, do you think?" Eliza asked gently. When he didn't answer she continued. "Harry, the point of these sessions is that you open up to me. Keeping your feelings trapped inside isn't going to help you. Everything in this room stays purely confidential."

His eyes darted to the quill that was still noting down everything that was said. "Prove it."

"Okay, if that's what you want." Eliza smiled reaching out and taking the quill away from the paper. As soon as the nib left the surface the quill froze, returning to its normal, lifeless state. It was a simple interrogation tactic, one he had learnt at the start of his auror training. It worked on two levels. The first, quid pro quo. You give them something they feel obliged to give you something back. The second, and perhaps more insidious, was that by giving them something they thought you were on their side, sympathetic and understanding to whatever plight they were going through. Whether it was true or not, it didn't matter, so long as they thought you did. People, Harry had learnt, heard what they wanted to hear. Even if what they wanted to hear was a downright lie.

He knew that this wasn't an auror interrogation. But the act of taking that quill away was meant to have the same effect. To get him to give her something and to at least start developing some kind of trust and prove to him that she really did care. But unlike every auror he had seen use the tactic the look in her eyes seemed genuine, like she actually cared. It was her job to care, that's what she was paid to do. But Harry liked to think he knew when people were lying to get what they wanted. He didn't have to open up to her. She'd get paid either way. But she wanted him to, because she wanted to help.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why would you say that you find it difficult to trust?"

He wasn't quite sure why he did it. Maybe he was just sick of keeping it buried inside, tired of dealing with it on his own. Instead of telling her the minimum as he had planned on doing when he walked in, he told her more than he had told anyone. He had never gone into specifics about the Dursley's with the Weasley's or Hermione, but they knew enough to know that Harry hadn't been happy there.

The words poured from his mouth, stories about how they had used him for labour, how Dudley and his friends liked to play 'Harry Hunting' and all the times that his Aunt and Uncle had called him a 'freak' and how they had wanted rid of him the very moment he'd been left on their doorstep. It wasn't as if they had beaten him. But they hadn't been kind either. Eliza just sat there and listened. Only asking questions when he left out a detail or when he was deliberately vague.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Eliza asked when he had finished.

"Because if I did they would have won," Harry answered, he was on his feet, staring out the window at the old tree in the garden outside her office. "I wasn't going to let them know they got to me."

Eliza opened her mouth to speak again but before she had chance there was a knock at the door a man with light brown hair and expensive looking robes stepped into the room, smiling shyly at Eliza.

"Sorry, Miss Carnell, but the Madison's are here for their appointment. They've been waiting ten minutes."

"Yes, of course, tell them I'll be right there, Sean. Thank you." Eliza said with a pretty smile. The man, although he didn't look much older than eighteen or nineteen, nodded blushing slightly as he shut the door behind him. "We seem to have run out of time, Harry. But, I'll see you soon, I've got a free slot on Thursday if you're available."

"I'm not doing anything else." Harry said, a hint of bitterness lacing the edge of his voice. He picked up his jacket from the seat, slipping into it as he walked towards the door. Unlike the Sean the secretory or Eliza, he wasn't wearing robes. Blending in to Muggle London wasn't too difficult, but robes always attracted attention and he didn't like being Diagon Alley anymore. There were only so many insults and pointed stares he could take.

"Ten o'clock, I'll let Sean know to expect you."

"See you then," Harry said as he opened the door. But before he had stepped through he turned back to her. "How much did you know about all this? You never said."

"No, I didn't." Eliza answered. "But I learnt a long time ago that nothing is as simple as it looks. See you Thursday."

"Yeah, see you." Harry said grinning for the first time that day before he stepped out of the office aware of the fact that he was feeling better than he had done in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Harry had already apparated home before he was even aware that he had taken out his wand. His body was on autopilot, the memories that had come flooding back meant that his brain was too preoccupied to notice. The door banged shut behind him, taken by the harsh winds from beyond the threshold. As soon as it was shut the sound of the wind and the rain was silenced, leaving Harry alone with the empty house. Years ago the sound of the door would have set of the ravings of Mrs Black. Not anymore. Not after Harry, his mind plagued with thoughts of the woman he loved and his temper fuelled by a bottle of Ogden's finest, had snapped and torn the damn thing from its frame. There were still pieces of canvas clinging it.

Down in the kitchen Harry set about cooking his lunch. When he had been living in Grimmauld Place during his training, he hadn't moved in with Ginny until after he'd graduated, he had gone about updating the house. The kitchen now supported a far more up to date gas cooker, not that he had much choice. An electric cooker would have gone haywire thanks to the wards on the place. The old crockery and battered furniture were gone too. A long, lighter table now stood by the fireplace, four matching chairs sitting around it. More than once Ron, Hermione and Ginny had occupied those places, severed the delicious food Kreacher had lovingly prepared. Now it was just him.

But his solitude was soon to be shattered. He was just about finished cleaning up the meal had made for himself when the fireplace burst in green flame and a familiar figure staggered out. He didn't turn round. He didn't need to. He knew who that was. Partly because she was the only person he knew that still had trouble using the floo network, but the main factor was that only her, Teddy and Andromeda were keyed into the network.

"You know, Hermione," he said as she dusted herself off coughing slightly as she did so. "Most people call before visiting someone."

"I did but you weren't in." Hermione told him stepping towards him as he dried off the plate he had used. "Besides, you were the one that said I could drop by at any time."

"And here you are." Harry grinned, taking a mug from the cupboard above the sink. He began pouring Hermione some tea waving to the table as he did so.

"Where were you anyway?" Hermione asked taking the seat that Harry offered. "I know you weren't at Andromeda's because I called her on the floo and she said she hadn't seen you yet today."

Harry nodded. Every evening at seven o'clock he went to Andromeda's. No excuses. No delays. At seven o'clock, no matter what he was doing, he went up to see his godson. Yes, he could probably afford to be a little late. But if he was five minutes late there was no telling how late his next visit would be. Then the next. Then the next, until he didn't see Teddy at all. He knew what that was like. Even when Ginny had left him he had made a point of visiting. It was the least he could do. He owed to Teddy. It wasn't his fault his parents had died. He deserved to have someone who was going to be there. No matter what. It went against every fibre of what Harry was to let the kid down.

"Therapy." Harry answered bringing over the mug and setting it down on the table. "You ever heard of Eliza Carnell?"

"The healer?"

"Yeah, that's one. Well, I had my first session today."

"How'd it go? I've heard she's done some excellent work. She was nominated for the Jefferson prize last year. The youngest ever to be nominated it. It's a shame she didn't win it though, Healer Thomas Flint got it. It's generally given to older healers for their contribution to medicine but she's had a far more important impact than he ever did. No-one before has managed to successfully promote and apply muggle methods and treatments at Saint Mungo's. I'd love to meet her, I was supposed to last year but we were so busy I didn't have chance. Penelope Clearwater went instead."

"It went fine, thanks." Harry said when Hermione finally stopped both for breath and tea. "I've got another session booked for Thursday and since when were you that interested in healers?"

"It's my job to be interested." Hermione replied, slightly affronted. Unlike Harry or Ron, Hermione hadn't wanted to be an auror. Instead, she decided to be involved in the new, far less Pureblood Ministry of Magic. She had started out in the Department of Magical Transportation but had soon been promoted and within a few years had become one of the youngest heads of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Which, as Harry understood it, meant her playing diplomat with the rest of the world. She always did have more patience than he did. "How long do you think you'll be seeing her for?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. The truth was he didn't. Sure, he'd opened up to her but she had also said that he was using work as a distraction, a crutch. Would she want him to go back soon? Somehow he doubted it. That was the trouble with these things, they took time. Trouble was no-one ever quantified just how much time it took. "As long as she wants me to I guess."

"She knows what she's doing," Hermione pointed out. "There isn't anyone else at Saint Mungo's better qualified."

Shame her office is the other side of London, Harry mused to himself. He managed to stop himself saying it to Hermione. Knowing her it would only spark a ten minute and incredibly one sided argument about equality and acceptance, an argument that Harry always thought was slightly flawed as she failed to accept people's bigoted prejudices herself and tried to force her views on them. She really could be a control freak sometimes.

"True," Harry agreed. "But no offense, Hermione, I've spent all morning there. I don't really want to spend my afternoon talking about it as well. How about we talk why you're here in the middle of the day and not at work?"

She flushed. The mug stopped halfway to her lips as she looked at him. He could almost see her brain trying to come up with the excuse. "It's lunchtime?" she tried.

"You take your lunch to work and you eat at twelve. It's half past one."

She sighed putting down the mug. "Fine. I need to ask a favour."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

"You don't even know what it is!" Hermione snapped. Harry just grinned. Even after all these years he could still push her buttons when he wanted to. It was her own fault really. She shouldn't be so easy to ruffle. But Hermione had always been a control freak. "Okay. Yes, you probably won't, but I can't take anyone else."

"Take? Take me where?" Harry asked but as he spoke he realised just where she wanted him to go. He was not going there. "No. Hermione. No way. You know I hate those things."

"Please, Ron's got work. It's George and Angelina's anniversary. I wouldn't ask but I can't turn up on my own."

"You can." Harry pointed out. "You just don't want to because you hate them as much as I do."

Every year the Ministry would hold a ball, that wasn't so much about dancing and enjoying the fine food and wine but more about rubbing shoulders with those who thought they were superior. People that made Harry's fists itch and made Draco Malfoy look humble. Hermione hated going because she knew that probably more than half of the room believed in 'their humble opinion' that she didn't deserve the job she had because she wasn't 'the right sort'. If Ron wasn't in the room there was no-one she could latch onto when the smug, self-righteous nature of almost everyone in the room got too much. Ron, Harry knew, just stood somewhere near the buffet table and ate as much free food as he could, even if it wasn't socially acceptable.

"More. You've only been to one!"

"One too many," Harry muttered darkly, remembering the half an hour tirade he had been forced to endure from Lord Montague about the shocking rise of Muggleborns in the Ministry. He sighed as the memory also revealed who had saved him from the pompous lord. Hermione, a false smile plastered on her face, had whisked him away claiming her head of department at the time wanted to speak to him. Deep down he knew she wasn't asking him to anything she wouldn't do if the situation was reversed. That didn't mean he had to like it. "Alright. Fine. But I'm not wearing dress robes."

"Any reason?"

"I threw my only set away." Harry answered. Ginny had given them to him, which automatically meant he would be damned if he was going to wear them ever again. The only other robes he owned were the ones he wore to work, definitely not suitable for the event. They were far too practical and casual. No, he couldn't turn up looking like he'd just turned up from work. Even though he didn't go to work anymore, he mentally added.

"I'm sure you'll find something," Hermione said quickly, not dwelling on just why Harry didn't have anything suitable. "It's at eight, tonight. Not a problem is it?"

"No. I think we can fit you in to my busy schedule."

She grinned at the joke, not that it was a very good one. But it was something. More than he had been doing lately. Now that she had got what she wanted he expected her to get up and leave. It was a habit that most people had taken to developing around him. The Weasley's never stopped for long and Hermione had been so busy with work that he'd barely seen her over the last few years. He'd fallen out of touch with everyone else. Neville. Luna. All moved on. Neville was teaching at Hogwarts and Luna was usually somewhere exotic looking for strange animals.

But instead she didn't move, continuing to sip at her tea, telling him all about her job, the trade talks with the Dutch being upset by the new Dutch Minister, meaning that they had to be started from scratch. She avoided the topic of the Weasley's as best as she could, they both did. There was too much pain there. Instead, they found themselves reminiscing about Hogwarts. It felt strange talking to Hermione again, but at the same time it felt right. As if they'd picked up where they had left off. It was quite a jolt for Harry to realise that over the past few years his circle of friends had dwindled to those who were as good as family and other auror's. Mainly because other auror's were the only other people in his world. Everyone else was looking in.

After Hermione's very uncharacteristic and unscheduled half day she had left the house, heading home to get ready for the ball that evening. She had assured him that the office could manage one afternoon without her. After having given so much to the Ministry, Harry didn't blame her for thinking she deserved one afternoon off. The only reason she gave so much to the Ministry, Harry knew, was that she didn't have any children. If she did there was no way she'd give that much time to the job. It wasn't that she didn't want them. Eventually. For the time her career came first.

At ten to seven Harry stepped outside Grimmauld Place, dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt. The tie he wore was thin and dark red with a diagonal splash of white cutting across it. His shoes were polished to a gleam, even his cufflinks glinted in the light shining down from the street lights. No-one could say he hadn't made an effort. But there was no way in hell he was going to wear damn dress robes. Nothing could be done about his hair, however, so he hadn't bothered trying only glancing at it in the mirror on his way out.

There was a faint pop, the familiar sensation and London vanished to be replaced by the house of Andromeda Tonks. He stood there for a moment, checking his watch, making sure that he had arrived with plenty of time. The rain hadn't come this far north, instead sunlight was trying feebly to poke through the thick blanket of grey cloud in the sky. A shout caught his attention and there at the front door stood Andromeda. A grin pulled at Harry's lips as he headed up the stone path.

"Very nice," she said when he had given her a quick hug and they had stepped inside. "Going somewhere special?"

"Depends on your definition," Harry answered sourly. He really didn't want to go. "The Ministry ball, Hermione's asked me to go. Ron's busy."

"Him and that shop." Andromeda sighed as she led Harry into the living room. The fire was ablaze, complementing the dark red wallpaper that Andromeda had chosen making the room far warmer and cosy than any in Grimmauld Place. She had gutted the whole place when she had moved in, redecorating it completely. Now it was far more welcoming and homely than it had been. A muggle couple had been the previous owners and insisted on making it modern and quite bare. She had sold her old house almost as soon as the war had ended. Too many memories of her husband. It was only years later that Harry understood just how that felt. "George is lucky to have him."

"I think they're good for each other," Harry said, sitting on the chair nearest the fire as he always did. On the mantel above the fireplace he saw a picture of himself, Andromeda and Teddy. Ginny had taken it, they'd all gone to the coast for a weekend. Teddy's first trip to the beach. Even as he looked at the picture he could see the young boy's hair shifting and changing colour. "He needed someone, they both did."

There was a brief silence, filled only with the noise of the crackling fireplace and gentle ticking of the clock resting on the mantelpiece. Harry stared it for a moment, but he wasn't really looking at it. Distant memories as fresh as the day he was there flooded back to him. The sounds of shouting, the falling rubble and the terrible agony filled screams echoed in his ears. He let the memories wash over for him a moment, consume him, before locking them back away. Burying them again.

"Still, they're doing good business." He said forcing a sense of brightness into his voice. "Must be if they're still open."

"Rumour is they're saving up to buy Zonko's."

"Wouldn't put it past them," Harry smirked. "George hasn't stopped in years."

"They've opening another one down in Hogsmeade," Andromeda said. "Ron's going to be running it, he was telling me last week. It's about time to. Deserves to after all the work he's put in for that shop."

That was true, Ron really had put in the work at the shop. Nobody had really expected him to step up like he had, instead thinking he would fall back into old habits. But the shop life had suited Ron, far more than dodging spells and any other rigorous test the Auror Department could come up with. But that was the point, to weed out the people who couldn't manage it. The trouble was there were less experienced aurors these days, so many had died in the war and recruits weren't exactly lining up to join. Nobody wanted to be part of a department that had been decimated a few years earlier. Any auror who had stood up to Voldemort's regime hadn't been looking out for his job security. Some had gone into hiding but too many had died. Too many good men.

"Zonko's could do with the competition."

"It'd be the first time anyone's tried in years." Andromeda told him. "There was one shop tried when I was at Hogwarts. It didn't last long."

Harry was about to continue, saying that Ron would easily manage to fight off Zonko's, but before he could there was an excited yell and something small and grinning barrelled into Harry. He laughed, picking Teddy up and spinning him round, eliciting giggling from the boy. The world went soft. Only Teddy could do that too him. Everything seemed to be right when Teddy was there, like his whole life, everything he had suffered and fought for and lost, all of it seemed worth it when he looked at Teddy. One of the few lights that shone in the dark.

"Uncle Harry!" Teddy shouted when Harry put him down, letting the seven-year old down gently on the floor. Out of instinct his hair had turned jet black and his eyes had a tint of green in the brown that they had been. He couldn't control his metamorphic abilities yet, not properly.

"Hey, kiddo." Harry smiled as Teddy clambered up onto the chair, perching on the arm, his feet dangling down. "How you feeling?"

"Better," Teddy replied happily. Over the last couple of days the small boy had been ill with a quite severe bought of flu. Not that you could tell to look at him. If his teachers had seen him bouncing contently on the arm of Harry's chair they'd have been more than a little confused as to why he had missed school. But Andromeda was more than a little overprotective of her only grandchild. "Grammie made me pancakes!"

"Did she?" The boy nodded profusely, his eyes big and innocent. A small part of Harry envied Teddy, wishing his childhood had been like his, full of love and care. It was only a very small part. But it was still there all the same buried deep inside. He ignored it. Focusing instead on the beaming boy before him.

The night passed quickly and all too soon Harry knew he would have to leave. The damn Ministry Ball. He couldn't put it off for any longer, but he still dragged out putting Teddy to bed, as he always did. He even indulged in reading a section of the science fiction novel Hermione had bought for him, with the voices done right. He had to. It's what you did. Stupid voices made a story. Especially for Teddy, he liked hearing General Di Santo, leader of the Rebel army, sounding like he had a helium addiction. But when he was officially fifteen minutes late he knew he would have leave. His brain rebelling at the idea he trudged downstairs.

Andromeda offered him a gentle smile, "Do try to have fun won't you, Harry?" She dusted something off the lapel of his jacket. He idly wondered whether there had been anything there at all or whether Andromeda just liked making a fuss. She didn't have many people to fuss after. Not anymore. Ginny had sometimes had to suffer the mothering of Andromeda. At least, until she had told the press her story that was. Even months after she had still visited, for Teddy's sake. But not anymore. Harry didn't know why but he was damn sure it had something to do with him. Teddy too. She had always been jealous of the time he set aside for Teddy. But if she didn't know why he did it then she didn't know him at all because there was no hell he would give up on Teddy.

"Oh I'll have a ball." Harry grimaced. It wasn't funny and the pun was awful but it got a laugh.

"Very funny," Andromeda grinned lightly smacking his chest. "Say hello to Hermione for me."

He nodded before giving her a quick hug and heading out the door. She didn't head back inside until he was out of the gate and by then he had already turned and vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Daphne Greengrass, Pureblood by birth and heiress to the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass stood in front of the full length mirror critiquing her reflection. Her dress, a dark green to match her eyes was elegant and weightless. It hugged to her figure where needed and showed off just enough of her natural assets to be appealing but not too suggestive. Old men plied with Ogden's finest tended to get too overconfident and forgetful about things like marriage and their wives.

Her light brown hair cascaded down her shoulders, falling in curls that had been painstakingly crafted hours before. Usually her hair was far straighter but the ball demanded she do something different. It was the way things were. You presented the best of yourself whether you wanted to or not. She looked at herself again. There was nothing she could do now, she knew that, but she did it anyway. Best to make sure before the big event. She knew that she wasn't beautiful, not in the way that would make men stare and jaws drop. But she liked to think she was pretty, thanks to her fair skin, small nose and large green eyes. She was not Pansy Parkinson after all nothing could help her, even Merlin would have his work cut out.

There was a knock at the door and her sister walked in. Astoria looked nothing like Daphne, except for their hair there were no similarities. Where Daphne was short her sister was tall and far thinner than Daphne could ever hope to be. Even their eyes were different, Astoria having inherited their mother's pale blue eyes while Daphne shared her father's. But Daphne liked that. Astoria was forever being compared to their mother, being almost a carbon copy.

"Daph, you ready?" Astoria asked, grinning happily. "Draco will be here soon." Ah yes, the lovely Draco. Reformed ever since dear Daddy had gone to jail and Narcissa had only been kept out due to the intervention of the Boy-Who-Lived. That still made her feel warm inside. Draco hated Potter. The fact his mother still walked free was a constant reminder that he owed Harry Potter. He deserved it too. Constantly being reminded the man he hated had power over him. It made him feel weak, pathetic, all the things he was deep down. Astoria hadn't had to share a common room for seven years with him. Merlin that boy liked the sound of his own voice.

"Can't be late for dear, darling Draco, can we?" Daphne said turning to her sister only to be met with a slight glare. It was the only bone between the two sisters. One hated Draco, the other adored him but Astoria had been in Ravenclaw. She hadn't seen what he was like, what lay beneath the now more calm, polite and restrained exterior. The Malfoy name wasn't what it had once been and he couldn't order people about anymore.

"At least I have a date," Astoria snapped, glowering before stalking out of the room. That much was true. Daphne had turned away any other suitor mainly because they wanted the gold she would inherit far more than they were interested in her. Draco had tried years before he had moved onto Astoria. It hadn't ended well for him. Besides, she didn't need a date for a ball. It was far more interesting to be uncommitted than have to stay with one boring and arrogant Pureblood lord in waiting for the evening.

Daphne took her time getting ready, knowing that it would annoy the newest head of the House of Malfoy. She could have left when her sister had done, but where was the fun in that? As she expected when she finally headed downstairs Draco was glaring at her. Although, he spent most of his time glaring at her. It was one of his favourite hobbies and took minimal effort, it was probably why he enjoyed it so much. She suspected he was hoping to feel important or intimidating or something. Whatever he was going for never worked. Daphne, instead of being scared or embarrassed, found it highly amusing. It was always fun to annoy Draco.

He was wearing black dress robes, complete with a white shirt and black tie. Exquisitely made the robes fitted him perfectly and clearly showed that no matter what everyone else believed the Malfoy's were not completely broke. She restrained a sigh. Every high ranking Ministry official and Pureblood Lord would be going through the exact same pretence. It was expected. The clothes you wore reflected just how rich and therefore important you were. A man in cheap robes would be avoided at all costs. Daphne was wearing a set of elegant dress robes, true enough, but she had worn them on several occasions before not seeing the point of wasting expensive clothes. Draco would never wear his again.

"Hope I haven't kept you waiting," Daphne said not bothering to look apologetic. She had to hide the grin that wanted to pull at her lips as Draco's fingers twitched. That temper really would get him into trouble one day. For his sake she hoped not with her. There were lines he never wanted to cross. Daphne was more than a little protective of Astoria.

"Not at all," Draco replied stiffly. "Shall we?"

He didn't wait for a reply instead turning away from Daphne, Astoria on his arm, into the sitting room. The glare Daphne got from her sister seemed almost genuine. But she would calm down soon enough, Astoria was definitely the forgiving one among them. Although, Daphne mused as she followed her sister. That could be because she had more to being forgiving about. Part of Daphne really did want to like Draco, but she couldn't help it. He was ugly to the bone. Selfish, arrogant, rude and nowhere near as clever as he thought he was. She had tried once to actually talk to him, for Astoria's sake, but after half an hour had seriously considered a killing curse and a one-way trip to Azkaban.

She followed them out of the hall and stepped into the other room just as Draco was throwing flu powder onto the roaring fire. There was a flash of emerald green and without a word he walked into the flames. Astoria waited for him to say his destination and for the fire to consume him before speaking.

"You could try to be nicer to him." She said, heading for the jar in which they kept the powder. "Would it you kill you?"

"No," Daphne replied, taking the jar from her sister. "But I might kill him."

"He wants to make the effort, you know that?"

"No, he just says he does." Draco Malfoy would say anything to get what he wanted. His type would. But it was strange how he would almost never deliver on his words. "There's a difference."

Astoria looked like she wanted to snap at her sister, but instead settled for a glower that would make any man fear for his life. Daphne just waved as she stepped into the fire and watched as the flames burnt bright once more. In the silence Daphne sighed. She had no idea what her sister saw in Draco. She doubted that she ever really would. To her Draco Malfoy would always be a spineless, self-regarding fool.

She waited a good few minutes before taking her turn to use the floo network. By that time Draco and Astoria would have gotten into numerous conversations with influential and probably dull people. They wouldn't even noticed she had arrived. Just the way she liked it. She gently sprinkled the powder into the fire and with a deep breath stepped inside. She hated closed spaces. It was the feeling of being trapped, powerless and out of control that she loathed. It made her skin crawl. She wanted to lash out. But it was the only way to get into the Ministry these days, security had been tightened up ever since the war.

There was the familiar rushing of grates, the dizziness and confusion and then she was stepping out into the huge atrium of the Ministry of Magic. All around her people were talking and laughing. Drinks and food floated about on trays, waiting politely by people before moving onto the next guest. Hitching on a smile, Daphne stepped forwards. Almost instantly, as if from thin air, a slight man with grey hair and lips so thin they almost looked as if they had vanished from his face, appeared.

"Good evening, Lady Greengrass." He said with the faintest trace of a smile. "May I offer you a drink?"

A silver tray floated towards them after an almost unnoticeable gesture from the tall man. Politely and on social automatic pilot Daphne took the offered drink. She thanked the man, offering a forced smile before he nodded and headed off to greet another guest who had appeared from the grate next to her.

She sidestepped the cloud of dust as the man sprawled on the floor, only to be helped up by the drink proffering staff member whose dress robes, Daphne noticed, were far more expensive than those of the young man who had tumbled out of the grate. Sighing she headed off, not wanting to catch the attention of the clearly new and desperate man.

The party was just like any of these things. People talked politely in small, inclusive circles and occasionally would be joined by other dull looking people carrying fine wines and champagnes. For something to do Daphne idly wandered between the clusters of people, occasionally sharing a joke and offering a smile when someone spoke, all the while mentally making a list of all the people she would try to avoid.

It was only when she was talking to, or rather being talked at by Lord Bulstrode, near the statue at the centre of the atrium, which had been made in the honour of those who had died during the war, that someone caught her eye. Standing, one hand holding a glass of water, the other twitching slightly as the man he was talking to laughed loudly in his face, was none other than Harry Potter. Unlike all the other people in the room he had forgone the traditional dress robes, instead he was wearing a muggle suit, much to the annoyance of most of the onlookers.

Daphne had never seen Potter at one of these things before, he tended to avoid them despite being the Boy-Who-Lived and an up and coming talent in the Magical Law Enforcement Department. Although his reputation had been somewhat tarred by Ginny Weasley's public hate campaign against him. Daphne, who knew the _Prophet's _habit to inflate a story all too well, had remained undecided about the tale of woe that the Weasley girl had told them. It all seemed far too good to be true. The perfect story. It was funny too how Potter himself was never quoted. The blanks were just filled in for him.

Intrigued, she walked over, ignoring the protest of Lord Bulstrode who sounded offended and moderately drunk. Potter didn't notice her, his attention instead focused on Lord Selby. Selby, however, almost immediately lost interest in Potter and instead turned to Daphne pulling out his most, or so he believed, charming smile.

"Lady Greengrass," he said pompously. "A pleasure to see you again."

"I'm sure," Daphne nodded, eliciting a small smirk from Potter who had turned to her now and was looking at her with a look that suggested he couldn't quite place her but was sure he knew her. "Good evening, Mister Potter, or should I say Lord Potter-Black?"

"You really shouldn't."

"But it is your title after all, Lord Potter-Black." Selby said looking appalled. Potter's fingers twitched. "It would be a disservice to refer to you by any other name."

"Not all of us follow tradition, Lord Selby." Daphne pointed out, before Potter's clearly short temper got the better of him. "Now, if you will excuse us, Mister Potter and I have some urgent business to discuss."

Without waiting for his response she slipped her hand gently onto Potter's arm and guided him away from Selby, who gaped at the pair of them for a moment for being side-tracked by a woman with too much hair and a bosom the size of a small fleet.

"Thanks," Potter muttered as Daphne guided them towards a far quieter corner of the party. "Who was that guy?"

"Lord Selby," Daphne informed him. "He owns a large portion of the _Daily Prophet. _I suspect the reason he seemed so keen to talk to you."

"But he's a moron."

"A rich one too," Daphne agreed, setting down her now empty glass on a hovering tray. "Money can breed stupidity, look at the Malfoy's. But sometimes there is the occasional exception."

"Like you I suppose."

"Nice of you to say," Daphne grinned, enjoying twisting his sarcastic response. "I prefer to think of myself as materially gifted rather than rich. Besides, money isn't everything. Look at you, all the money and riches a man could dream of sitting in the Potter and Black vaults and yet you're an auror."

"Not at the moment."

"But you will be," Daphne told him. "Michael Davis is a close family friend, his daughter Tracey and I went to Hogwarts together. He wants you back as much as you want to be."

"So you're that Greengrass," Potter said, completely ignoring her comment. There was a directness about him that Daphne couldn't help but admire. In a world of Pureblood politics and manoeuvring there was little need for men like him. "Daphne, right? Used to hang around with Tracey Davis. Hermione told me about you two once, you were in her Ancient Runes class."

"How is Granger?" Daphne asked fondly. She had always enjoyed trying and sometimes succeeding in beating Granger in their exams. A healthy rivalry was good for the soul, besides she always enjoyed wiping the smug smile off Granger's face every once in a while.

"Fine, she's around somewhere, busy playing international relations I think."

"With Ambassador Delacour and Minister Trimbole?" The two big invitations to this little gathering. The primary reason for the ball, behind the self-serving display of power and authority, was to establish connections. France and Australia, who had been just as partisan as the rest of the world during Voldemort's reign of terror, were some of the only nations willing to help Britain restore its reputation. But people, Daphne knew, never did anything for nothing. The fun part was trying to figure out just what they wanted to gain from all this.

"She said Fleur's dad would be here."

Ah yes, Daphne thought idly, she'd forgotten about the Delacour's link to the Weasley's. Not that it had exactly been publicised. There had been the small matter of the death of the Minister of Magic and the war with Voldemort to contend with. Marriages really didn't make the cut where news was concerned then, shame really.

"Politics bring all sorts of people together," Daphne mused.

"No it doesn't." Potter said, taking a sip from his water, as a he looked out the mingling crowd all fake smiles and emotionless laughs. Idly she wondered just why he was drinking water. At these things everyone drank the same fine drinks but here he was, in his muggle suit, sticking to water. He'd come the one year that people would hate him. Any other time people would have flocked to see the Boy-Who-Lived, shake his hand and ask for his autograph but now. Now the same people looked at him with thinly veiled contempt. Perhaps the most intriguing fact was that he didn't seem to care. Unlike everyone else standing around the Atrium, Potter didn't seem to be bothering to impress. In fact, quite the opposite. So why come at all? "It brings all the same sort of people together. Just from different places."

"And yet," Daphne said, "here you are."

"I'm just here for the free food."

"Aren't we all?" she smiled, for the first time perhaps that night the gentle grin she knew reached her eyes.

"So," Potter started finishing off the glass in his hand before setting it on a conveniently floating silver tray. "What is it you actually do? Other than talk to strangers at parties."

"I'm an Unspeakable," she told him. She suppressed a grin as she watched his eyebrows knot slightly. It wasn't something that people expected her to be. A lady of the manor, living the life of luxury with no cares in the world, that was what people thought she should be. Ladies didn't become Unspeakables, it didn't happen. Or, at least, it didn't very often. But people tended to avoid that, stilling to their beloved stereotypes. "You thought I'd be lazing about in a manor somewhere?"

"No," Potter answered. "Just not poking things with sticks that's all."

"There's a little more to it than that."

"You poke them without the stick too?"

"For your information I haven't poked anything for at least six months," she replied grinning slightly. "Instead we're trying to redesign and develop prototypes for a new batch of time-turners, ever since someone broke all the old ones."

"We were being chased by a bunch of Death Eater's at the time." Potter pointed out. "Besides we broke a lot more of the stupid prophesies than we did time-turners."

"Something that Luidhard hasn't forgiven you for," Daphne told him. Luke Luidhard, who had joined the British Ministry from France almost sixty years previously, had made it his life's work collecting, storing and cataloguing the prophecies within the depths of the Department of Mysteries. To say that he had taken it badly when he had discovered many of the precious artefacts broken was more than an understatement.

"I apologised. Twice."

"Maybe third time is the charm," Daphne suggested. "Though I think he just hates you."

"I'm starting to get that, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Potter opened his mouth to say something else, but whatever it was Daphne never found out what he was going to say. His emerald eyes shifted behind her, widening in the shock of recognition. Frowning Daphne turned, wanting to see what it was that Potter had seen. The crowd behind them had parted for a moment, as a tall woman in a blue dress stepped out of their midst. The last woman that Potter would ever want to see.

Ginny Weasley.

**AN: Sorry for the length of time between these updates. I'm currently at university so the work load is pretty intense and means I don't have much time to do any writing. I'm aiming to get one of these chapters done per month. So yeah, I hope you all like where this is going and thank you for the feedback that everyone has given, it's been great and I hope this lives up to your expectations.**


End file.
